


The Ultimate Expression

by thestairwell



Series: Power and Responsibility [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Flirting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-24 10:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestairwell/pseuds/thestairwell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Blaine starts to build some (perhaps questionable) friendships, a failed public performance hints at the Llamantor’s motives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ultimate Expression

**Author's Note:**

> Very little Kitten Boy in this one (or superpowers in general) - it's really more of a world-building, foreshadowing (even though you know who the Llamanator is already), fun almost-filler. Mostly, this part exists because I wrote it before I abandoned the multi-chapter fic for a 'verse. Also, I've squashed two parts together in this one so now the total number of planned parts is 19.
> 
> Finally, the upped rating is because of foul language and, well, Puck being Puck (if he weren't on a primetime TV show). Sorry!

When Blaine rushed late into Glee club on Friday – he’d overslept thanks to having to finish homework after a patrol last night – he was ready with apologies and excuses, but they died on his lips when he found most of the room shouting and Mr Schue failing to calm everyone down. Blaine raised his eyebrows and then crept around the wall of the room – giving a quick smile to the band, who looked torn between amused and annoyed – and took his regular seat next to Kurt.

(The fact that he had a regular seat next to Kurt in less than a week thrilled Blaine to no end.)

“Hey, what’s going on?” he asked quietly, leaning closer to Kurt so the other boy would be able to hear him.

Kurt quirked an eyebrow at him but leaned over just the same. “Mr Schue just told us we’re not playing for the homecoming assembly on Monday.”

“Well, the plan was to get more members, right?” Blaine asked, quickly counting the number of people in the room. “But it’s doesn’t seem like that big a deal if you don’t get them. We need twelve to qualify but there are fourteen people in here.”

Kurt shook his head. “If Puck and Brittany manage to graduate this year, New Directions will be down to three members. That’s half of what we started out with in the first place.”

“Ah. Gotcha.”

The pair fell silent, watching the chaos of the room.

“I say we march into Principal Figgins’ office and _make_ him let us perform!” Rachel shouted.

“Rachel, if we do that—”

“As much as it sickens me to say this, I agree with Pippi Longstockings, Mr Schue. If the man in charge can change his mind, we’ll make him change it right back,” Santana said.

“Has anyone suggested you do a performance of your own?” Blaine asked Kurt. “Those steps out in the courtyard would make a really great stage, and you could catch people outside.”

“We tried that last year. Rachel sent our only potential new member to a crack house.” Blaine’s eyes widened, and Kurt smirked. “Blaine Anderson, welcome down the rabbit hole.”

“Guys, guys, calm down,” Finn broke in, standing up and using his height to get attention. “Why don’t we just do what we did last year? We could do one of the songs from this week and reach out to anyone who looks like they’re enjoying themselves.”

“Excellent idea, Finn!” Mr Schue praised.

“Are there even any songs about Chicago?” Tina asked.

“Last year we sang _Empire State of Mind_ ,” Kurt whispered to Blaine in explanation. Blaine bumped his shoulder and smiled in gratitude for the running commentary.

“Nothing we can work with,” Rachel said.

“Well,” Blaine spoke up to the room, drawing the attention to himself, “the assignment was to basically find something people can dance to, right? Maybe if we just sing something which looks like we’re having fun, they’ll be more encouraged to sign up.”

“At least someone in this room still has use of their brain,” Kurt murmured, making Blaine smile wider, at the same time Puck said, “The hobbit’s got a point, Mr Schue.”

“It’s all well and good to suggest something but it’s kinda useless if you can’t back your ideas up,” Finn shot back.

“You mean like you did?” Santana said.

“Actually, I do have a suggestion,” Blaine said pleasantly, as if he couldn’t sense the hostility from Finn. “ _You Can’t Stop The Beat_ – I mean, everyone loves _Hairspray_ , right?”

“No, but everyone loves Zefron,” Quinn said.

“She speaks the truth,” Artie piped up.

“But no one as much as me,” Lauren added, giving every person in the room – especially Artie – the stink eye. “I love Zefron the most, got it?”

“Yeah,” Mr Schue said, pointing in Blaine’s direction and talking faster as he got more excited. “Yeah, that’s a really good idea, Blaine.”

“Good thinking, Blaine,” Rachel said. “There probably won’t be many people who haven’t seen _Hairspray_ thanks to the movie musical so it’ll be obvious to know who to pick: anyone who sings along. I suggest that everyone picks one person to go after and we won’t stop until they—”

“Take out a restraining order?” Kurt interrupted.

“Alright, guys.” Mr Schue clapped to get everyone’s attention. “Settle down. I really think we’re onto something here, Blaine, thank you. First, is there anyone here who doesn’t already know at least most of the lyrics?” No one raised their hand. “Good. Rachel—”

“Hell to the no!” Mercedes exclaimed. “Mr Schue, if we’re gonna be pulling in members, we’re going it as a _group_ , not The Finchel Show.”

“‘Finchel’?” Blaine asked Kurt under his breath.

“A portmanteau for ‘Finn and Rachel’. Like ‘Bradgelina’.”

“ _Seriously_?”

“It’s a thing. When our parents got married, Finn announced him and me as ‘Furt’.”

That caused Blaine to look away from the room once again descending into chaos, this time about solos, and look to Kurt.

“Finn’s your step-brother?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Okay, everyone, sit back down and we’ll assign parts,” Mr Schue said, and gradually everyone followed his orders. “Good. Now, who wants a part?” Most people put their hands up, so Mr Schue amended, “Alright, who _doesn’t_ want a part?” Only Mike and Lauren put their hands up. Mr Schue looked a bit lost. Blaine wanted to take pity on the teacher and divide up the sections – after a year of mentally preparing to divide Warblers, it was almost instinctive – but it would probably be a bad idea. For starters, he didn’t know everyone’s ranges, having heard only half the group; but also he didn’t want to step on Finn’s toes any more than he apparently already had.

Finally, after some not-so-gentle nudging, suggestions and demands from the more outspoken members of the group (including Kurt, to Blaine’s surprise, as the other boy hadn’t shown a great deal of interest when Blaine first showed up), everyone who wanted a part had been assigned a handful of lines for the verses, with everyone joining in together on the choruses. Then they cleared the risers of chairs so that Mr Schue, Mike and Brittany could start figuring out choreography, and, although the rest of the Glee club was supposed to be watching, most of them were talking or otherwise occupying themselves instead.

“Hey, ladies.” Puck’s arm landed heavily across Blaine’s shoulders. “You mind if I borrow Short Stack for a minute? Thanks,” he said to Kurt, and then he started steering Blaine away without waiting for an answer. Blaine smiled in bemusement at Kurt and Mercedes and went without a fuss, letting Puck lead him to an empty corner.

“Look, dude, Puckzilla hates to ask for help with this – so help me Jew Jesus, if you tell anyone what we’ve talked about, I will pummel you – but I need lady advice.”

“Uh, Puck, I’m gay,” Blaine said, deciding it was easier to just ignore ‘Puckzilla’. “I don’t know how much ‘lady advice’ I’ll be able to give.”

“Whatever, Hummel’s basically a lady.”

“That’s actually really offensive,” Blaine cut in.

“ _Whatever_ ,” Puck repeated. “I’ve seen you talking to the girls, anyway, you could probably talk the panties off them if you wanted to.”

Figuring he would pick his battle, Blaine decided not to call Puck out for being so crass. “Okay. So, how can I help you?”

“Lauren Zizes.” Puck’s face softened into the sappiest thing he’d ever seen, including his brother that time they found a stray dog when Blaine was six. “I’ve been trying to get in her pants for _months_ but she won’t let me.”

“I don’t really see how I’ll be able to help,” Blaine said hesitantly. “I’ve never had sex or tried to seduce someone.”

“You’re shitting me. You’re a virgin?”

Blaine’s face burned and he shuffled on his feet. He wasn’t ashamed of his virginity but he didn’t like such a big deal being made of it either. “I’ve only met a couple of out gay guys my age before and they were dating.” He shrugged.

“Dude, you haven’t even banged Hummel yet?”

“I’ve only known him a few days! Besides, isn’t this about helping you?”

“You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”

“Thank you for the offer but I already have a plan. But I can still try and help you, if you want, although like I said, I don’t know how much I’ll be able to. Are you guys going out?”

Puck sighed. “Yeah. That chick literally saved my life – I was stuck in a Port-a-Potty and she got me out – and she agreed to join Glee club if she got seven minutes in heaven with me – but dude, she said I was a bad kisser! Puckzilla’s the best damn kisser in this school!”

“I’m sure you are,” Blaine hastily assured him before the taller boy could do something like offer to kiss Blaine so he could see for himself.

“Whatever. Anyway, she’s had my balls in her hand ever since, but the problem is she hasn’t had my balls in her hand.”

Blaine was sorely missing the Warblers with their Dalton code of etiquette right now.

“Um, well, I get the impression that you’ve been a bit of a player in the past.”

“Damn straight I have.”

“Maybe Lauren’s just worried that, if she gives you what you want, you’ll just dump her and move onto the next girl,” Blaine suggested, and Puck gaped at him.

“You think that’s it?”

“It couldn’t hurt to show her that you want to be with her for more than a tumble between the sheets.”

Puck frowned, and Blaine could almost see the cogs in his head turning.

“Thanks, bro.” Puck held out his fist, which Blaine bumped, excitement shooting up his spine. He’d never hoped to have such a fantastic public high school experience – a potential boyfriend, a show choir, and fitting in with an established group of friends. “You’re pretty cool for a prep boy, you know.”

“You’d probably be surprised at how wild Dalton boy parties can get,” Blaine said with a grin. Puck snorted.

“Yeah, sure. Anyway, your boyfriend’s probably worried about you so we’re done. And remember – don’t tell anyone, even Hummel.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s against the bro code.” Puck smirked at him, and then they walked back over to the group.

“Are you okay?” Kurt asked immediately. Blaine nodded and opened his mouth to answer, but then Mercedes added, “What did he want anyway?”

After a moment of consideration – after all, Blaine didn’t want to lie, but he had essentially been sworn to secrecy – Blaine asked, “Dare I ask what ‘Puckzilla’ means?”

“Oh, God.”

*

The New Directions had an extra practice after school on Monday to fully get down the steps and link the choreography to the song lyrics, and they spent their usual hour on Tuesday morning going through a last-minute rehearsal. By the time lunch came round, the New Directions were as perfect as they were going to get.

Blaine was seriously impressed, and he said so to Kurt.

“You think this is impressive? Our first real competition – Sectionals, two years ago – we had to change our entire set list in half an hour because our competition had stolen our original one.”

“What happened?”

“We won, of course, and the judges never even knew what had happened.”

Blaine gaped, and Kurt’s hand darted out to pat Blaine on the elbow. It was brief, barely there at all really, but the fact that Kurt had initiated this contact all on his own made him feel warm inside.

The group hovered at the top of the courtyard steps in a huddle, having a last minute discussion before they would get into their places and Rachel would signal to band to start playing.

“Alright – Kurt, watch your shimmy, if you go overboard you’ll distract from everyone else. Finn, if you lose control of your arms, stop moving them. We don’t need you breaking any more noses when we’re trying to recruit new members. Puck, Blaine, look at the crowd, not other members of the group,” Mike listed. Blaine smiled sheepishly and nodded in agreement. He had developed a habit, during rehearsal, to keep looking at and watching Kurt and then find himself unable to look away – Mike was right, the shimmy was very distracting. Luckily, he’d practised the steps so often over the last two days (and had been able to sing the lyrics since he was twelve) that he’d been able to keep going on autopilot.

“Don’t forget, everyone,” Rachel added, “if you see someone who looks like they’re having fun, singing along or dancing along, memorise their faces and don’t take no for an answer, especially if they’re freshmen or sophomores.”

With that, they parted and spread across the top two tiers, and then the music started and Mercedes opened with the first lines: “ _You can’t stop an avalanche as it races down the hills._ ”

She, Tina, Artie and Finn took the opening verses, with everyone else creating harmonies until they joined together at the chorus. Completely without bias, Blaine thought they sounded amazing, a dozen times better than in any of their rehearsals. Blaine threw all his energy into the performance, flirting through the song with whoever the choreography put him closest to. The guys didn’t look too happy about it – some actually looked quite disgusted – but no one tried to attack him or interrupt the song so he was taking that as a win. During his verse – replacing Penny and Seaweed with himself, Sam, Rachel and Brittany – he spotted a small group of freshman girls mouthing along, and two of them were even mutely dancing to the beat.

Blaine almost got distracted when Kurt sang, but overall the performance went off without a hitch. The end of the song, the repeated “ _You can’t stop the beat_ ”s, with every repetition the group moved closer and closer together, until for the final one they were in a tight formation that, when the band played the last night, looked frankly fantastic with everyone standing in their final poses.

Their audience looked away and started talking again, as if the New Directions had never sung in the first place. Blaine looked over at Kurt, feeling confused and a little bit lost as to what to do. The blue-eyed boy shrugged, smiled sympathetic and a bit sad, and dropped out of his pose. The other New Directions did the same thing, and Blaine followed suit. He felt a little bit empty inside – not once had he ever not had some kind of feedback after a performance, even if the only feedback had been his brother’s endless remarks on how to improve. Blaine had soaked it up, and later, with the Warblers and their own impromptu performances, there had been the applause and the congratulations.

He looked around the courtyard again. The freshmen girls he’d seen enjoying themselves earlier were looking around uncomfortably. One was biting her lower lip. Blaine doubted they’d be joining Glee club any time soon.

The group was subdued and mostly silent as they made their way back inside – except for Rachel, who was chatting away with a blessedly determined look on her face, but no one seemed to be listening to her. Once in the corridor, Kurt dropped back to walk next to Blaine. He reached out and squeezed Blaine’s hand, watching his face.

“Hey,” he said in a quiet voice. “How are you feeling?”

Blaine pressed his lips together to stop them from trembling and shrugged, gripping Kurt’s hand tightly back. He breathed deeply and slowly to get himself back under control, and gradually he was able to both loosen his grip and meet Kurt’s eyes.

“I know you already told me how unpopular Glee club is,” he said, “but I . . . I wasn’t expecting that at all. If they’d thrown food at us or – or insults, or whatever, that would’ve been so much better than just doing nothing. They don’t even actively dislike it, they just don’t _care_.”

“It’s horrible, isn’t it?”

Blaine was silent for a moment, looking back down at their hands, at his thumb brushing over Kurt’s knuckles. “I mostly feel sorry for them,” he said in almost a whisper a low voice.

“What? Why?”

“Music is – it’s how we express ourselves and share ourselves. Music can make people cry and laugh and feel so much. It even heals people. But they – they’re too scared to let themselves have that, that release, that joy, because of – I don’t even know.” He drew in a shuddering breath and finished quietly, “I don’t know who I would even be without music.”

Kurt didn’t say anything, and Blaine didn’t feel strong enough to look at him again. He was shaken and unstable, and he knew he’d probably cry if he looked in Kurt’s eyes, so wide and bright and full of emotion. Instead, he concentrated on breathing and slotting the pieces back into place so that when he did look at Kurt again he wouldn’t break down.

It wasn’t until they turned onto the corridor with the choir room that Kurt said in a low voice, “Blaine Anderson, you are the most incredible person I have ever met.”

Blaine looked up at him, startled. “What do you mean?”

“Those—” Kurt struggled for a moment, “those Neanderthals outside are awful. They’re mindless sheep just following the crowd, knowingly and willingly hurting everyone here time and again because they’re too small-minded to try and be nice. They’re no better than bullies, and you _feel sorry_ for them. You don’t hate them or—” Kurt broke off, and Blaine realised there was a lump in his throat so he cleared it. When he was finally able to reply, his voice felt slightly rough.

“After the incident at my first school, I was so pissed off all the time, at . . . well, everything. I lashed out at my parents and snapped at everyone who tried speaking to me. My best friend – Nick, though he wasn’t my best friend then of course – he suggested I take up boxing. So, I did, and I stopped being so angry all the time. But I realised I had to let the anger go anyway because it – it burned every time I thought about it. I haven’t . . . forgiven, exactly, but I changed how I viewed what happened.

“If I were to hate them, I would be holding myself back. I wouldn’t be able to sing so freely, or experience things as fully or as joyfully as I want to. I’m not forgiving or condoning their behaviour, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not going to hold it against them either.”

When he stopped speaking, he realised that he and Kurt had stopped just around the corner from the choir room door to give them some privacy. He looked up at Kurt and was taken aback by the emotion on Kurt’s face. He couldn’t figure out what it was – Kurt’s eyes were wide and shining with tears, his mouth ever so slightly open, his muscles loose in contrast with the stiff hold on Blaine’s hand.

“Kurt?”

Kurt blinked, snapping out of whatever had taken hold of him. He glanced away and closed his eyes, and he drew in a breath to pull himself back together and compose himself.

“I think you underestimate how amazing you are,” Kurt said sincerely. “Naïve, yes, but, Blaine . . .” He trailed off and shook his head, and then he gave Blaine a tiny smile. Blaine’s head spun, and it almost felt as though he was missing something. “Come on,” he said, leading Blaine into the room and not dropping his hand until they reached their seats.

As everyone settled into their seats, Mr Schue came out of his office, rubbing his face, closely followed by Rachel.

“Rachel told me what happened,” he said. “Did anyone at least see any potential members?”

No one even bothered to shake their heads. Their morose expressions were probably enough answer for the choir director. He sighed.

“Alright. I guess we’re back to Plan A, then: winning Nationals and using that to boost our popularity so that we’ll hopefully get some people auditioning next year. But everyone, keep a look out for people for the rest of this year as well, just in case. Got it?”

There wasn’t really anything else to say, so Mr Schue let them go to lunch, though by how slowly everyone moved, it didn’t seem like anyone had much of an appetite.

Mercedes fell into the chair next to Kurt, on the other side to Blaine, and dropped her head on to Kurt’s shoulder with a sigh.

“This really sucks, Boo.”

“I know. We _need_ that Nationals first place trophy.”

Suddenly, Rachel jumped up and turned to look at the room. “Come on, guys, we can’t let this get us down! This is admittedly a bit of a setback but we have enough members to qualify for the competition, and that’s what we need to focus on.”

“Rachel’s right,” Finn said, standing up to join his co-captain. “Like the song said, they can’t stop the beat. In football, if someone gets sacked, we’re told to just shake it off – this is basically the same thing, but with singing instead of a football.”

“We were perfect out there,” Rachel said. “If we keep it up, we’ll win Nationals no problem this year, and then next year Glee club will be overflowing with new talent – though none as good as me, of course, but as I’ve been preparing for this my entire life, that’s not really much of a surprise to anyone, I’m sure.”

“Can it, Man Hands. If it weren’t for you and Finnocence over there, we would have won Nationals last year,” Santana accused angrily.

“Even in light of what happened today, I still think twelfth place was worth Finn and I realising our love for each other,” Rachel said, her and Finn looking at each other soppily.

“Oh, ew. Gag,” Santana muttered as Rachel pulled Finn back into their seats.

For a moment, Blaine contemplated asking Kurt and Mercedes to explain that too, but it would probably come in time. Besides, he still wasn’t feeling up to par from after their failed impromptu performance.

Blaine missed the Warblers.

“Blaine?” He looked up, and Kurt and Mercedes were standing in front of him and looking at him. “You coming to the cafeteria?”

Blaine considered going, even if only to be social, but he was still feeling a little raw from bringing up the Sadie Hawkins incident with Kurt again and just being so vulnerable in front of the other boy. He didn’t feel much like hanging out with them. He wished he could just go home now – if the nurse let Puck skip Math, it would probably be easy to feign an illness to get his last three periods off – but he didn’t want Kurt to worry unduly. He’d just go to bed early tonight, and give Kitten Boy the night off, since he did need those fairly regularly anyway to keep any potential criminals on their toes.

Also, just the thought of the smell of the cafeteria made his stomach roll.

“No, thank you,” he answered with a small smile, getting to his feet. “I think I’ll go sit in the library.”

“Do you want some company?” Kurt asked, and Blaine shook his head.

“I’ll be fine. See you guys in Spanish.”

They walked out the choir room together and, before they separated, Blaine squeezed Kurt’s wrist to reassure him that he would be fine on his own, and then they parted ways.

The library was empty, except for the librarian and a couple of students in the lounge area. Blaine made his way to a back corner where he couldn’t be seen by the other occupants. There weren’t any tables and chairs but the ground looked quite clean so Blaine didn’t mind sliding down the wall and sitting on the floor. He momentarily straightened one of his legs to get his phone out of his pocket, stared at it for a couple of beats, and then opened a text thread to Wes, his only friend who was also an ex-Warbler, although Wes was a college student now rather than a high school transfer.

 _So,_ he sent, _it turns out the glee club here at mckinley is kind of uncool_

There was an almost instant reply, and Blaine was so relieved. Wes must not have been in class – there was no way he’d have replied so quickly if he were in a lecture.

_How uncool?_

_An impromptu public performance got absolutely no reaction. We sang you can’t stop the beat Wes. Everyone loves you can’t stop the beat. You /have/ to dance to it – it’s in the song!_

_You want me to call you?_

_Can’t. I’m in the library_

There was a short pause where Wes was probably trying to figure out what to say. Blaine wasn’t even sure what he wanted to hear. He just knew that he wanted some familiarity, the comfort of one of his best friends.

_Honestly, Blaine, I’m not surprised you had an audience of Philistines. Don’t forget you’re at public school now._

Blaine held back a snort of laughter. _I’m pretty sure that was offensive in like three different ways_

_Students only spontaneously break out into song and dance in High School Musical. As charming as you are, you’re no Zac Efron._

_I knew you had a secret crush on zefron!!_

_Everyone has a secret crush on Zac Efron. Don’t even deny it – I saw the poster in your room. And you admitted it when we played Truth Or Dare at Nick’s birthday party._

Blaine grinned at his phone and pressed his fingers to his lips to stop himself from laughing. _I don’t remember that_

_I’m not surprised. You’d started on the tequila by then._

_I’ve never drunk tequila in my life and I’ve deleted all the evidence to prove otherwise :P_

When the bell rang ten minutes later, it startled Blaine into almost hitting his head against the wall. He sent a quick text to Wes saying he had to go to class, to which he replied, _Oh, God, you weren’t just in class now, were you?!_ Blaine laughed and assured him it was only lunch but he had Spanish now, and Wes promised they’d Skype in a couple of days whenever both of them were free.

“You’re looking better,” Kurt murmured when Blaine slipped into his seat beside him. Blaine just smiled.

*

By the next day, Blaine had managed to shake off the last vestiges of disappointment or hurt and he walked across the McKinley parking lot feeling the same as every other day: excited anticipation at seeing Kurt, and just generally looking forward to the day.

As he neared the doors, a group of six jocks moved in front of him, five of them folding their arms and all of them glaring at him. Blaine didn’t know – or particularly care, considering he actively didn’t spend much time concerning himself with bullies – which sport they played, but the leader of the gang had a mullet more than worthy of _Achy Breaky Heart_.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Blaine said with a genteel smile. “Would you mind letting me through? I need to get to class.”

“Yeah, we’d mind a real lot,” the leader said as his lackeys sniggered behind him. “We’ve already got one queer fagging up our school, we don’t need another.”

“Statistically, one in ten people are gay, although if you’re using the broader definition of ‘queer’ that probably goes up to at least one in six, which means that – statistically speaking, of course – there are at least two queer people in every team.” Blaine smiled benevolently and didn’t even flinch when the jocks all crowded in closer with fury on their faces.

“None of us ain’t cocksuckers, got it?”

“In grammar, a double negative makes a positive,” Blaine pointed out. “So you basically—”

And then he was suddenly wet and freezing and slightly sticky. He gasped and instinctively screwed his eyes shut, and one of the jocks pushed him over. Blaine wiped his eyes free and squinted his eyes open against the sting, and then he looked down. His eyes widened as he saw himself covered with coloured ice.

“Wow, they really got you.” Blaine turned around and saw a sympathetic looking Tina standing behind him.

“They didn’t appreciate the implication that they might be gay.”

Tina’s eyes widened. “Are you crazy? They could have killed you!”

Blaine shrugged. “Is there somewhere I can get cleaned up?”

“Right – duh. Come on, I’ll help you.” Tina took Blaine’s mostly dry satchel and started shaking off the ice as they started inside, and Blaine decided to follow suit, wiping more ice off his face and clothes. “There’s a girls’ bathroom just down the hall. I’ve got some towels in my locker but you should probably text someone to ask if you can borrow some clothes and product.”

Blaine paused. Tina misunderstood his hesitancy (or, well, okay, the main reason for his hesitancy), assuring him that no one would care if he went into the girls’.

“Would anyone have any hair gel?” Blaine asked. Tina thought for a moment, and then shook her head.

“Probably not,” she answered. “I mean, Kurt _might_ have some in his locker but I’ve only ever seen him use hairspray.”

Blaine pressed his lips together. “Uh, Tina,” he started carefully, “do you think Mr Schue would mind if I were late to Glee?”

“Yeah, most of the teachers don’t really care if we even turn up to class. Bet that’s a bit different to Dalton, isn’t it?” She smiled at him and Blaine laughed.

“Yeah, a bit.” He drew in a deep breath and then said, sounding much more confident than he felt, “Would you mind passing on a message to Mr Schue that I’ll be late?”

“Don’t you want any help?” she asked, surprised.

“Oh, no, I’ll be fine. I’ll just run home and clean up there.” He waved a hand next to his head and grinned self-deprecatingly. “I’ll need to re-gel this, anyway.”

“Blaine, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“If I let it run free, it starts eating people. Seriously, Tina, my hair is like the plant in _Little Shop of Horrors_.”

Tina snorted. “Sure.” Then she looked at him hesitantly. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

Blaine nodded, smiling. “I’m sure. I’ll only be about half an hour, anyway.”

“Alright,” she relented reluctantly. “I’ll tell Mr Schue what happened.”

“Thanks, Tina. See you in half an hour.”

Instead of the usual twelve minutes it took to drive between home and school, Blaine managed to cut it down to eight. He tugged off his dirty clothes and threw them straight in the washer, and then he ran upstairs to stick his head over the bath tub. He couldn’t cut down on the amount of time it took to get his hair back into place, not if he didn’t want to keep impressing Kurt and not scare him off already, but he’d managed to only miss twenty-five minutes of Glee. He was relieved about that – he only got to spend three hours a day with Kurt five times a week, except for last Tuesday when they’d gone out together.

As he jogged through the hallways to the choir room, Blaine decided it was about time he asked Kurt out on another date. Should he stick to coffee or go for something more extravagant? He could probably still buy tickets for a matinee performance on Sunday of whatever musical the Columbus theatre was playing but that might be moving along in the courtship too quickly. Especially because Kurt’s dad probably wouldn’t be too happy with Kurt going out of town with some boy he didn’t know.

But he didn’t want to repeat ideas. He wouldn’t mind taking Kurt to coffee again but he didn’t want Kurt to think he was boring or cheap.

Unless, Blaine figured out, he bought Kurt a gift – a flower, probably, since anything else would be too presumptuous or inappropriate. And on Saturday, if Kurt wasn’t doing anything, so they could have lunch at a cafe and then go to the park afterwards if the weather was nice or maybe to the mall.

Decided, Blaine was smiling when he entered the choir room, his entrance interrupted Mr Schue mid-speech.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said.

“Are you doing alright, Blaine?” Mr Schue asked.

“The first is always the worst,” Quinn said.

“I wouldn’t know,” Lauren said. “They know I’d come down on them like the vengeful fist of God if they even thought about it.”

“You’re so hot,” Puck said, staring at Lauren almost reverently.

“I’m fine,” Blaine assured everyone as he made his way over to an empty seat next to Kurt. “I was just wasn’t expecting it so it caught me off guard.”

“Where did they even get a slushy from?” Sam asked.

“They looked like the cups you get from a 7-11,” Tina said.

“Mr Schue?” Rachel said, standing up. “While I think it’s awful Blaine got slushied, we really do have more important things to be discussing, such as which musical I will be able to star in this year.”

“Hold up, why do you get to be the star?” Mercedes asked. “I’m as much lead material as you.”

“Well, I was going to suggest _West Side Story_ , and we all know that I was born to play Maria.”

“Mr Schue, if I may?” Kurt spoke up, raising his hand. “As much as I love _West Side Story_ , I think it’s all wrong for a high school production. We need something accessible and well-known to the general audience, not something vague that we’ll be lucky if even our parents come to.”

Rachel folded her arms and stared almost intimidatingly at Kurt. “Well, then, what do you suggest?”

“ _Hairspray_.”

The room erupted, everyone trying to talk. Blaine blinked in surprise at how opinionated everyone seemed to be. Mr Schue looked a little lost, and Blaine couldn’t help but wonder exactly how much control over the Glee club the teacher had.

“Has all that crap you put in your hair gone to your head?” Santana demanded. “Or have you been so wrapped in your new boy toy that you’ve forgotten all about what happened _yesterday_?”

Kurt stood up, and on the top riser, he towered over the room. “Yes, no one clapped after our performance, but you know what they did do? They danced. I saw a few people who looked like they were having fun. Blaine was right – people like _Hairspray_ ; they just don’t like us.”

“We are not doing _Hairspray_ ,” Rachel asserted. “I’m not right for the part of Tracy Turnblad at all—”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Mr Schue cut in. Kurt smiled and sat back down, and Blaine nudged his arm and grinned at him. “We’ll have open auditions – for the whole school, Rachel – and we can figure out costumes after everyone has their roles.”

“Finally, I’m gonna get my chance to shine,” Mercedes muttered to Kurt. They smiled at each other, wiggled their fingers and smoothed back the front of their hair, and Blaine couldn’t help but grin. His future boyfriend was adorable.

“Mr Schue, I still think _West Side Story_ would be our best option.”

“Any other suggestions?” No one had any so Mr Schue continued, “Alright, let’s put it to a vote – _West Side Story_ versus _Hairspray_. (“Is he actually gonna pay attention to our opinions?” Blaine heard Tina mutter to Mike, and he had to cough to hide a laugh.) Who thinks we should do _West Side Story_?” Rachel’s hand immediately shot up into the air and a few moments later, after she elbowed his side, Finn did too. They were the only ones. “ _Hairspray_?” Most of the other hands went up, although Blaine saw that Lauren, like himself, was abstaining.

Kurt poked his arm to get his attention, and then looked at Blaine with a little frown on his face. “Why aren’t you voting?” he asked under his breath as Mr Schue started talking again.

“I like both musicals fairly equally, and it doesn’t seem very fair to vote when I’ve not even been a member for two weeks,” Blaine murmured in reply. “You’d better pay attention, though. It would be a shame for you to miss any vital information when this was your idea.”

Kurt rolled his eyes but turned his attention back to the front.

“I’ll put up the audition sign up sheet on the notice board and tomorrow we’ll create a couple of posters to let people know – I did say open auditions, Rachel, that means people outside the Glee club are allowed and encouraged to audition too.”

“Plus, if anyone outside the Glee club is part of the musical, there’s a chance they might join and we get new members out of it,” Quinn added.

“Very good point, Quinn. Okay, we’ve only got five more minutes left, so I guess you can all just go to your next class early and I’ll see some of you later in Spanish.”

Of course, no one left to get to their next class early – even at Dalton where there was a lot more emphasis placed on studies, all but the most studious were never earlier than ‘right on time’. Instead, everyone started talking amongst themselves about who they would be auditioning for and their hopes for the show. Kurt and Mercedes launched into discussion about them starring as Tracy and Link and fantasising about their future in the lights. Blaine was content just to sit back and soak up the excited atmosphere.

“What about you, Blaine?”

“Hm?”

“Who are you gonna audition for?”

“Oh, uh, well, I guess I’ll just play whoever is left over. Like I said, I’ve been here less than two weeks. I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes.”

“Boy, with that attitude, you’re never gonna get anywhere in the New Directions,” Mercedes piped up, leaning around Kurt and raising her eyebrows at him.

Blaine licked his lips, and glanced at Kurt. “Well, ideally, I’d go for Link Larkin, but I don’t think it would be a very good idea to compete against the guy I’m . . .” He trailed off, panicking for a moment. He couldn’t very well call what he was going with Kurt now ‘courting’ out loud, at least not to his face, and since his only other option was ‘wooing’ and equally unusable, he almost stumbled over his words before finishing, “the guy I want to date. At some point. In the near future.” He cleared his throat to shake off his awkwardness. “So I don’t really want to build resentment or anything.”

Kurt bit his lip and looked like he was trying not to smile as he looked away with a blush while Mercedes just rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

“Well, at least he already knows how to deal with you,” Mercedes said to Kurt, which made Blaine chuckle and Kurt push the girl out of his personal space.

*

_AUDITIONS FOR WHMS’ 2011 SCHOOL MUSICAL_  
 _HAIRSPRAY_  
 _DIRECTORS: ARTIE ABRAMS, EMMA PILLSBURY, SHANNON BIESTE_

_AUDITIONS WILL TAKE PLACE MONDAY AFTER SCHOOL IN THE AUDITORIUM_  
 _PLEASE PREPARE A SONG NOT FROM THE SHOW AND A COMEDIC MONOLOGUE_

_AUDITIONEES FROM EVERY YEAR WELCOME_  


There were several joke names underneath, with increasing crudeness, but almost everyone in the Glee club had signed up, and it looked like there were even some people from outside the Glee club as well, unless the normal-looking names were a cruel joke to get everyone’s hopes up thinking that there would be even more people.

That was where Blaine found Kurt on the way to Glee club on Friday, looking at the list but as if deep in thought rather than contemplating the names, as Blaine had done when he’d signed his own name.

“Hey, Kurt. You okay?”

Kurt jumped slightly, startled out of his thoughts, and he looked at Blaine.

“Sorry,” Blaine added with an apologetic smile. “I didn’t mean to make you jump.”

“Oh, it’s fine. Hi, Blaine.”

“Hey,” Blaine repeated with a more relaxed grin. Together, they started down the corridor to Glee. “What were thinking about so hard?”

“The auditions. Well,” he amended with a blush and a shy glance at Blaine, “more specifically, your audition.”

Blaine blinked in surprise. “Mine?” he echoed. Kurt nodded and started fiddling with the strap of his bag.

“It didn’t really seem . . . fair, to me, that you’re not going for the role you want just because of me. Especially because we haven’t known each other for very long.”

“But Link Larkin is a lead role, and you need a lead role on your application to NYADA,” Blaine pointed out. “It’s a far more important role to you than it is to me.”

Kurt still looked abashed. “I actually . . . Ah, I was talking to my dad about it the other night and he . . . sort of, talked some sense into me, I guess? Or, well, he brought up some good points. So, I think you should audition for whoever you want to – _including_ Link Larkin – and I will too, and may however fits the role best win.”

Blaine was still unsure. “But NYADA . . .”

Kurt just smiled secretly. “Don’t worry. In case I don’t end up with a main role, I have a plan.”

“Well, you can’t just say that and not tell me anything.”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Kurt said with a cryptic smile.

Blaine shook his head and smiled, more to himself than his conversation partner.

“I actually wanted to ask you, are you free tomorrow?”

“Well, I do have an audition to prepare for.”

“All day? Because I was hoping we could go out to lunch together. Maybe we could compare notes and see if Lima has any other lesser known places of interest only one of us knows about.” Blaine winked.

Kurt bit his lip and ducked his head. “I suppose I could rearrange a few things and clear an hour or two out of my busy schedule.”

Blaine smiled. “I’d be much obliged.”

“Do you have anything in particular in mind?”

“Actually, I do. There’s this cute little cafe – have you ever heard of DiMaggio’s?”

“Like the centre fielder?” Blaine blinked in surprise, and Kurt flushed. “My dad’s a big sports fan,” he explained.

Blaine smiled reassuringly, and nodded. “Like the centre fielder. Actually, the cafe’s named after him – it’s not a sports cafe, don’t worry,” Blaine added quickly, seeing Kurt’s uncertainty. “There’s just a bit of baseball paraphernalia around. But basically, if you like paninis, you can’t get them better than at DiMaggio’s, and it’s kind of out the way and I’ve never seen it more than half full.”

“What time?” Kurt asked, and Blaine’s smile grew.

“I don’t know – you’re the one with the busy schedule.”

Kurt's shoulders shook with silent laughter. "True. I can't expect everyone to be so involved in Lima's high society.Blaine couldn’t help but laugh. He’d met several of Lima’s ‘high society’ as Kitten Boy and they were some of the more ungrateful that he’d helped, not to mention quite old and – to hear his parents tell it, as both of them actually did have fairly regular contact with these people – incredibly snobby. He would love to see them try and stand up to Kurt.

“Anderson!”

Both boys looked away from each other as they entered the choir room and someone called out Blaine’s name. Puck was sitting in a back corner on his own, and his hand was raised to signal Blaine over. Blaine looked back at Kurt, who had an eyebrow raised but didn’t look anywhere near as confused as Blaine felt.

“I guess we’ll figure it out later,” Blaine said.

Kurt nodded in agreement. “That sounds like a good idea.” He glanced over at Puck, and then back to Blaine. “Good luck.”

“See you at lunch,” Blaine said. He rested a hand on Kurt’s arm in parting as he passed by the other boy and then went over to sit next to Puck. He said a hello to the mohawked boy as he set down his satchel, and then waited for Puck to say something. He was lounging back in his chair so far his ass was barely on the seat, and his legs were spread wider to give him balance. Puck flipped a drum stick between his fingers, staring at it intently and now ignoring Blaine’s presence completely. Blaine looked over to Kurt, who tilted his head in as if to ask what was going on, and Blaine shrugged and then turned back to Puck.

Finally, he was a bit fed up of waiting for the other boy to speak, so Blaine decided to give him a little push. “You know, with the way you’re practically flashing yourself, anyone might think you were trying to seduce me.”

Puck suddenly sat up, so quick Blaine almost missed it and the chair grated backwards over the linoleum.

“Dude, you’re like attractive and all – the Puckzilla knows good-looking when he sees it – but these muscles are all about the ladies. And even if I wanted to – which I don’t – Hummel would try and strangle me with one of his feather boas, and not even the Puckster can rock that look.”

Blaine had almost missed the days when straight guys ran at the first implication of non-heterosexuality.

“Don’t worry about it,” Blaine said dismissively. “You’re not my type, anyway.”

Puck actually looked offended, and Blaine fought down the urge to start laughing.

“So was there a reason you wanted me to sit next to you, or were you really planning on seducing me?”

Puck’s expression turned a little pained. He looked around at the rest of the Glee club present – only Kurt was paying any attention to them, and he was probably more concerned with making sure Blaine wasn’t going to be molested or something than eavesdropping on what Puck was going to say, but even then he was on the other side of the room – and then spoke in a low voice.

“I’ve been trying to think of ways to show Zizes she’s the only girl for me – you know, like you said before – but I just keep coming up with fuck all.” Then he furrowed his brow in contemplation, and he looked up and down Blaine in a way that made him mildly uncomfortable. “Do you—”

“I’m not having a threesome,” Blaine interrupted. Puck looked a little put out.

“Why not? You could lose your v-card and I convince Lauren she’s the only girl for me.”

“By having sex with another guy?” Blaine was seriously beginning to wonder how their relationship worked. Puck seemed more like a whipping boy than a boyfriend, or – okay, that was a mental image which would be seared into Blaine’s brain forever.

“Man, she’d be all over that,” Puck said seriously. “Like eighty percent of the files on her computer are of those _Harry Potter_ guys doing some really kinky stuff.”

“Harry and Draco? Well, yeah, everyone knows there was something going on there . . . But I’m still not having sex with you. Do you play any instruments?”

“Guitar,” Puck conceded sulkily, slouching down in his seat again.

“I can’t think of a single person who doesn’t like being written a song,” Blaine offered, which made Puck visibly pause.

“You think that’ll work?” He frowned. “I’ve never written a song before. We did original songs last year for Regionals and Sectionals but we wrote those as a group and I just messed around with the band.”

“Pick a few of your favourite things about her and just… expand.” Blaine shrugged. “If you come up with the lyrics and the tune, I can help you with the actual music, if you want.”

“Yeah, awesome.” Puck nodded. Blaine mimicked him and then looked over at Kurt, who was now obviously staring at them, looking a mix of confused and worried.

 _Is everything okay?_ he mouthed. Blaine smiled and nodded and made an ‘o’ shape out of his fingers but quickly morphed it into a thumbs up. (He’d gone to Cuba for a few of weeks over the summer with a couple of the guys from Dalton and they’d done a lot of scuba diving. He had apparently not yet completely shaken the habit of scuba signals. Kurt just looked amused, with an eyebrow raised, but then just turned back round to the front.)

“So how’d you start your pool cleaning business?” Blaine asked Puck, and they talked about it (the pool cleaning part of it – Blaine very quickly changed the subject back whenever it seemed like Puck was going to start talking about his sexual conquests) until the rest of the Glee club had arrived and Mr Schue clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention.

“Alright, before we begin: Kurt, you had something you wanted to share?”

“I did, yes,” Kurt said, propelling himself out of his chair to the middle of the room, where he kept twisting his body from side to side to look at everyone. “Kurt Hummel is wading into the shark-infested waters of McKinley’s politic waters and running for senior-class president! I thank all the seniors present in advance for your votes.”

There was a light smattering of applause, to which Kurt bobbed a small curtsy (it was official: Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson’s future boyfriend, could literally not be more adorable if he tried) before going back to his seat.

“Thank you, Kurt,” Mr Schue said. “Okay, so, on to the next order of business. I’ve been thinking about the musical and, if we’re going to get to Nationals, I need to focus on that and not direct the musical.”

“But Mr Schuester—” Rachel began, but she fell silent when Mr Schue held up a hand.

“Instead, I’ve asked someone we all know. Round of applause for your new director, Artie Abrams!” Once again, there was only half-hearted applause from the majority of the room. “Artie will be working with Miss Pillsbury and Coach Bieste to direct the musical, but the teachers will be more for back up in case Artie needs help with something and for the ensemble scenes.”

“Y’all gonna be my bitches,” Artie said smugly.

“Don’t count on it, Robocop.”

“Artie’s a cyborg? Is that why he’s stuck to his chair?” Brittany asked Santana.

Mr Schue sighed.

*

It was relatively quiet for a Saturday night – there were some rowdy drunks singing obnoxiously as they staggered home, a couple of assholes, a group of loitering teens in a park smoking weed, but nothing which warranted Kitten Boy’s intervention.

He was wandering around a residential area tonight, mostly because he’d been focusing a bit more on downtown and the district and business areas for the last few weeks and he needed to change it up a bit before the Llamanator grew bored and active again. It had been about a month since he’d seen his arch nemesis and, if he was completely honest with himself, he was starting to get a little paranoid, that maybe the Llamanator had changed his tricks or his mind and had decided that clues were best left to the DC Comics so now Kitten Boy would never know when or where he was going to strike next and so Kitten Boy would never be able to bring the Llamanator to justice.

Kitten Boy loved quiet nights, but he absolutely hated that he had nothing to distract his mind from running away with itself and nothing to distract from his thoughts and his growing paranoia.

He vaguely wondered where all the people were. As far as he was aware, there wasn’t anything in particular to keep people everyone in their homes, and if it were a game night (for any team sport) the bars would be teeming with macho men over thirty (and the clubs would be full of underage kids with fake IDs or stunning pretty looks taking advantage of their dads being out).

As Kitten Boy jumped between the roofs, he hummed his audition song or sang it under his breath. He still hadn’t decided on whether to audition for Link yet – yes, it was his dream role, and yes, Kurt had said it was fine, and yes, Kurt was also running for senior-class president and apparently Brittany was his campaign manager and popular enough to help the gay kid win, but he was really getting quite a huge crush on the boy personality beneath the sometimes-eccentric, always-fabulous fashion and the gorgeous appearance and face and body. The more he got to know Kurt, the more he wanted to date him. He just didn’t know what would happen if he beat the other boy for the male lead role because he knew that, in a competition between the two of them for the role of a debonair lad from the sixties, Kurt didn’t stand a chance. He also knew that the other boy was quite the diva, even if he wasn’t as obvious as Rachel or Mercedes.

Still, he wanted to nail his audition. He was going to sing _Something’s Coming_ from _West Side Story_. It wouldn’t quite show off his capability of playing Edna Turnblad (who he honestly thought would be quite a fun character to play, but he’d been dared by the Warblers once to dress up like a girl and then all their girlfriends had cooed over him and complimented his waist so it wouldn’t end up with quite the comedic effect of, for example, John Travolta in drag) but it would show off his showmanship and stage presence. Maybe he’d end up with Corny Collins – that would be fun as well.

“ _With a jingle, with a shock, Phone’ll ring, door’ll knock. Open the_ —oh, hello,” he murmured to himself as he heard a drunken, out-of-rhythm, almost incoherent slur of a chant to fight. He pushed his speed slightly faster. He’d heard stories about manslaughter during stupid bar fights and he didn’t want anyone to die on his watch.

Sure enough, there was a sloppy circle surrounding two guys who were wrestling a little pathetically on the ground. Kitten Boy raised his eyebrow. He was sure he’d seen that exact position in a porno.

With a sigh and a shake of his head, Kitten Boy jumped off the roof and into the middle of the circle, bending right into a crouch to absorb the shock from the landing. (Sadly, his invulnerability did not include being free from pain, only included a greater threshold for pain and didn’t obliterate it entirely – it would have been impossible for him to break his knees, but he would still have ended up in a damn lot of pain.)

“Alright, gentlemen,” he said, raising his voice to be heard above the mob, “let’s break it up.”

Some of the crowd of observers shouted or jeered or booed at him, and neither of the men involved in the scuffle even paid the slightest bit of attention to him. And so, Kitten Boy had no choice but to enter the fray himself.

It didn’t take long to get the men separated and between them, even going so far as to twist one guy’s arm around in a half nelson. (It was moments like these when Kitten Boy was very glad he’d taken up both boxing and judo – he had to make sure he was careful to stay away from anywhere above the shoulders and to avoid pressure points and weak spots, but there were very few fights he wasn’t able to gain an upper hand in.)

“Th’ ’ell, kid?” slurred the guy who wasn’t shouting out in pain. “We’re fightin’. Go back’ome.”

“Yeah, s’way pass your bedtime!” shouted an enthusiastic, angry part of the crowd.

“The fight is over,” Kitten Boy said firmly, releasing his grip on the man. He stumbled to the ground and lay there in a daze, moaning most likely over his shoulder and arm though he wasn’t moving to rub it.

“Lookid, this fight’s over when I say t’is,” the man insisted. He was swaying on his feet, even as far apart as his stance was.

“You have a few options,” Kitten Boy said, holding up his fist so he could raise a finger with each point. “One: you disperse, you go home, and that’s the end of that. Two: I call the police to put you in a cell for public disturbance. Three: you try and fight me, I put you on the ground like that guy, and I call the police again.” The guy scrunched up his face, either in anger or confusion or a mix of both, but his face was too clouded with alcohol to tell. Kitten Boy injected a bit of judgement into his voice as he added, “You really want to try fighting with the town super?”

The crowd muttered at that, and, out of the corner of his eye, Kitten Boy saw the onlookers gradually slink unstealthily away. The guy looked a lot like he actually wanted to punch Kitten Boy, but there was an uncertainty, until finally he turned away and started lumbering down the street.

“Don’t drink and drive!” Kitten Boy called cheerfully after him, and then turned to the other participant in the fight. He was now drooling slightly, and unconscious. Carefully, Kitten Boy rolled him into the recovery position so he wouldn’t choke and he’d be able to breathe, and then checked his pockets for a phone. He called the first female in the guy’s Recent Calls list and was subject to an irate, half asleep earful before he was finally able to explain who he was and what was going on.

“Fuck if I care,” the woman scoffed. “Night in the gravel’s just what that no good bastard deserves.” Then she descended into angry mumbles.

“Ah, well, is there anyone you know he’d be able to stay with?”

All he got was silence in reply. Kitten Boy pulled the phone away from his ear and frowned down at the display, which now showed the Recent Calls list again. Great.

“Any idea what I should do with you now?” Kitten Boy asked, poking at the unconscious man’s shoulder. He didn’t respond. After a moment of thinking, Kitten Boy shrugged. People slept – and woke up – in weird places all the time when they got drunk. This man was going to be fine, providing he didn’t roll into the road or the parking lot, if mighty uncomfortable.

Decided to leave the man where he was, Kitten Boy looked around for any more drunk or tipsy people who looked like they might need a helping hand. Fortunately, though the inside was loud and rowdy, outside the bar was empty and peaceful. He looked at the man’s phone again to check the time and saw it was coming up to closing time (last year, he’d memorised all the pubs’ opening and closing times on both ordinary days and game/vacation days).

“What do you think?” he asked aloud, looking at the unconscious man. “Should I stay for closing time.” Kitten Boy hummed thoughtfully. “Well, if there’s been one fight already, I suppose it might be a good idea to stick around.”

Kitten Boy slipped the phone back into the man’s pocket and then, after a moment’s pause, took both the man’s phone and wallet and slipped them awkwardly underneath his body, in case someone came along and thought it would be a good idea to steal them. After he stood back up, he rubbed his knees for a moment to get rid of the mild ache from keeping them still in an awkward position for too long, and then he leapt onto the roof of the bar.

And, well, who was he to waste the opportunity to rehearse his choreography, mouthing the words along with it?

**Author's Note:**

> Next time: things get real good. The Llamanator makes another appearance, and a certain pair get their acts together. ;)
> 
> Also, this is the last part I have pre-written, so it'll probably be a fair number of weeks before the next part comes out.


End file.
